


Being a God sounds nice

by lord_overkill



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence tops, I'll show myself to the trash, M/M, but is still nervous and needs some guidance there, my contribution to the garbage, some idea about Credence being able to recognize when people are witches or wizards, some porns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lord_overkill/pseuds/lord_overkill
Summary: Credence could see witches, but after meeting Mr Graves, he had eyes for only one.





	

Credence could see witches. 

Ordinary people flowed through the streets and alleys, their feet endlessly wearing the cobblestones smooth. Witches sneaked conspiratorially amongst these folk, disguised in the same clothing, shoes and expressions. 

Witches live among us, Ma said – and they did. They blended in so seamlessly that nobody else seemed to notice. 

Credence couldn’t help but to notice. They stood out to him, like shivers of color parting the dreary grey. Strange, powerful things they were, to stride so boldly in the open, proud of their wicked nature. 

Hungrily Credence watched them beneath his lashes. They were blatant. Fearless. Walking amidst regular people like they were gods. 

It’d be nice, to be a god. 

 

There were no mirrors in the church, because mirrors ignited self-love, one of the most sinful types of love. Almost as sinful as love between two men. 

Once, the gutters flooded and Ma sent him out in the rain. He looked into the water and tried hard to see the same thing he saw in witches. But his reflection stared back, grey and beaten. Not an ounce of magic.

 

It was nice to meet a god, Credence learned. Maybe just as nice as being one. Because he… oh, he. His outfit alone was worth more than Credence’s life, and he hadn’t had a single hair out of place. Immaculate. 

Credence couldn’t look him in the eye, not then.

“You know what I am, don’t you?” he said, deep and curiously intimate. The ordinary people flowed around them, ignorant of their proximity. His touch rent Credence weak. His voice hypnotized. 

“A witch,” Credence whispered. The air seemed to shudder with the revelation. If Ma knew how close he stood to this man, if Ma knew he’d spoken to a witch, if Ma knew…

A calloused hand settled warmly at the back of his neck. 

The other reached into his pocket and withdrew a finely carved bit of polished wood. There was no mistaking what it was. A faint gasp startled itself from Credence’s parted lips. He dared only one look at it before his eyes flew to the side, to the cobblestone street.

“Touch it.” 

“M-Ma says it’s wicked.”

This time the man whispered in Credence’s ear, and the delicate caress of his words traveled all the way down his spine, “Your Ma is afraid of power. This is power.”

Trembling, he reached out and laid his hand atop the man’s. 

A thrum of sheer strength pulsed beneath his swollen and broken fingers. Veins of its energy snaked up his wrists and forearms and left his skin tingling. 

He yanked his hand away. His lips parted and his eyes shut. Magic. Dangerous, sinful and wrong wrong wrong. 

“This power could be yours.” He whispered into his ear, rough and tantalizing, like sandpaper and silk. Credence had never wanted anything more intensely. 

“I-I…” 

The man took his pamphlets, every one, and disappeared.

Credence remained there, leaning on his toes, eyes half closed, and craved a touch that never came.

 

That night, Credence kneeled and prayed until his knees swelled up. Mary Lou looked on, proud. She didn’t beat him that night. Maybe he was finally learning to be a good boy, is what she thought.

Credence was not convinced he wanted to be a good boy.

 

 

 

The man met him again. And again. He said he was Percival Graves, and he was a witch. And so was Credence, he said. 

Mr Graves promised things. Lots of things, whispered conspiratorially in the shadows, with his fingers swirling between his shoulder blades and his thigh nudging just so – 

It was all terribly sinful. Buildings, people, the pews – even the cross, the Savior himself! – all seemed to shrink away from Credence as if they knew of the latent evil arising in him. 

Mary Lou was worried. She whipped him for the slightest infraction nowadays, worse and harder than before. He should feel guilty, and repent of his ways before the God above put him in his place.

That’s what he should do.

But privately, deep down, there was a glowing flame of something so monstrously wicked. _I am sinful,_ he would think, and shiver in covert pleasure. 

Even as he bowed before the Savior’s cross, a vile smirk would decorate his lips. 

Even as Mary Lou, vengefully proud, gazed at his fresh wounds, a fire would rage in his chest. _Mr Graves is more powerful than you_ , he would think. 

“I will beat the sin out of you!” Mary Lou shrilly shrieked once.

Deep deep down, somewhere dark and furious, he retorted, _I am sin_. Hatred bubbled beneath his flesh, like at any moment it would erupt and devour everything. Maybe Mary Lou would beat it out of him. 

Maybe, just a little, he wanted her to. 

He wanted to snap. 

 

 

Credence could see witches, but after meeting Mr Graves, he had eyes for only one.

They met in filthy alleyways, like those loose women with high hemlines, but Mr Graves made him feel like a king. 

“Credence…” It was a rolling purr of a name, rich and lush with surreptitious desires. 

Nobody had ever said his name like that. Nobody had ever really wanted him before. 

Credence’s lips were swollen with bites, his eyes lidded and heady, while he was helplessly trapped against the wall. Mr Graves, meanwhile, was more composed in his arousal. He always was – but Credence would kill to make him fall apart.

“You’re beautiful, Credence.”

“I-I’m not…” 

Mr Graves gripped his hip with nothing short of possessiveness, those long fingers creeping tantalizingly to places he shouldn’t be touched. “You are. You’re mine. I only want beautiful and powerful things, and that is exactly what you are.”

“Th-this is sinful…” 

“My dear Credence, there is no one I would rather sin with than you.”

“But Ma-“

“Will never know the things I’ll do to you.” 

It was spoken like a threat, but his thighs twitched involuntarily. “Y-you want _me_?” 

“I can’t _resist_ you,” he murmured, and smothered Credence with a devouring kiss. It was the kiss of a god to a lowly servant, brimming with power and radiance. 

Credence’s blood-streaked fingers greedily clutched Graves’ fine black coat. Surging into the kiss, he met Graves tongue for tongue, as if he could lap the power Graves promised straight from his mouth.

Graves jerked his head back.

Quietly, Credence relished his shocked look. “I’ve been learning.”

Shock was quickly smoothed over by lust. “My dear boy… so quickly you go from virgin to whore.”

“Only for you, Mr Graves.” The daring of his own statement both chilled and excited Credence. 

Graves unflinchingly slammed Credence’s wrists to the wall, stern eyes just the slightest bit unhinged.

Good. A man as strong as Graves desired him. Had him pinned against the wall. He was wanted, and he would keep it that way.

It was a challenge Credence was ready to accept. 

“Mr Graves,” he moaned wantonly, gazing from under his lashes. It was partly for show, and partly due to his own crippling arousal. Credence wrapped his legs around his waist and rolled his hips against him like a common slut.

Their cocks grazed together repeatedly, Credence’s motions jerky, while Graves were practiced and steady. 

Heat rose red-hot to his cheeks. Embarrassment nearly made Credence withdraw into himself. “Mr Graves, it feels so good…”

“So eager, Credence.”

“More, please.”

“Patience…” With taunting slowness, his fingers tiptoed to the backs of Credence’s thighs. 

Teeth sank into his neck and Credence tossed his head back. A sudden surge of fear. Fear, because Mr Graves is tall and commanding and brilliantly magic, and Credence is helpless and vulnerable before him. 

Credence’s nails dug into Mr Graves shoulders.

No. No more fear. No more pain. 

Boldly, he hiked his legs higher and shamelessly brushed his calf to Mr Graves’ behind.

“You are full of surprises,” Mr Graves growled against his pulse.

“Please,” Credence begged, because he didn’t have the words for what he wanted to do – nor did he know exactly what it was he desired. 

What he did not want was fear. What he wanted was power. In the very deepest recesses of his mind, he unconsciously recalled shadows swirling under his flesh, and buildings ripped apart by his merest touch.

Credence grasped Mr Graves’ arms boldly, spun to reverse their positions, and slammed the older man against the wall.

Here he paused, stuttered, “is this – I’m sorry –“

Mr Graves reclined casually against the wall, smoky grey eyes sly and unfazed. Though his hair and clothes were tousled, he emanated a rich confidence that Credence longed to share. His voice was a low enticing rumble, “What will you do to me, Credence?”

Again desire, thick and heavy, surged. He coveted. 

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Credence dove down and dragged his tongue over Mr Graves’ swollen lips. Mr Graves yielded willingly, a chuckle deep in his throat. “Go on, Credence,” he whispered with their lips touching, “claim me, my boy.”

A harsh whine erupted from Credence’s throat – he wanted, wanted wanted.

His bruised knuckles and chipped nails scraped uselessly at the wall. Helplessly, he rutted against Mr Graves’ but couldn’t get enough friction to satisfy himself.

“You want more, Credence…”

“I don’t know what to do,” Credence finally admitted, words choked and shame heating his cheeks.

“I’ll help you.” 

Then he reached for Credence’s belt – Credence flinched violently back, tension racketing up his spine.

“Sh-shh…” Mr Graves soothed, eyes warm and dark and oh so gentle. “I would never hurt you, Credence. I want to help you. I want to help you.” 

“Why- please – don’t –“

“Shh….”

Credence shivered in place. 

“That’s it… good boy. You can trust me. I would never hurt you.” A subtle metallic clink, then the slip of leather through his belt loops. A clatter as Graves threw it aside.

Hands returned to him, undoing his pants, and tugging them down his thighs. With an embarrassed squeak, Credence opened one eye. He shied away from the sight of his own erection, jutting stiffly out despite his fear.

“You’re doing so good…” Rough calloused hands caressed him, firm and strong. 

Credence rocked his hips, chasing the sensation, but Graves drew away, smirking.

“Patience, my son.” 

With no fear, no hesitation, Mr Graves turned around. He drew down his pants and exposed a smooth, muscular ass. Between his thighs hung his thick cock; Credence swallowed, aroused for reasons he could not name. 

Such a pose would have made anyone else seem submissive, but not Graves. Graves had a presence about him, an indomitable air.

Mr Graves let out a deep groan as he shamelessly slid two fingers into the heat of his ass. His cock twitched from the ministrations as he lazily thrust his fingers in and out.

Credence whimpered, and Graves cast him a sly glance. Drawing his fingers out, he purred, “right in here, Credence, do you understand?

Credence’s hands went clammy. His hole was delicate dark pink and wet, and it flexed eagerly even as Credence watched.

“I… I put it in?”

“Yes.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“Credence.” Mr Graves grasped his hand and squeezed, once, reassuringly. “Do as I say. It will feel good.”

Shivering, Credence pressed his flushed head against that welcoming hole. A sharp gasp burst from his lips as it swallowed his tip right up.

It was… soft. So tight and hot and warm, so different from his own cold, bony hand and the rough jerking gestures that he was familiar with. Credence whimpered and fruitlessly jolted his hips without going any deeper. 

“Am… am I hurting you?” 

“Deeper, Credence… I order it.”

“Y-yes…” Credence slowly sank deeper. His abdomen twitched and he let out a tiny squeak. Mr Graves clung tight to him, nearly driving him out of his mind – despite this, Credence froze and moved no more. 

“Credence.” Mr Graves tossed a glance back at him, eyes stern. “I’m not fragile.”

Right. 

Licking his lips, Credence placed his palms firmly on the wall on either side of Graves’ head. All right. He was going to this. He was going to… to fuck Mr Graves. 

That word was dirty, forbidden – the sheer, unashamed thought of it inflamed Credence.

His lip twitched in something that neared a smile. 

“I’m not gonna hold back, Mr Graves.” 

Darkness swirled beneath his skin, infused with excitement, with the near-painful ache of his erection. 

He gave one, sharp thrust – Mr Graves grunted; this time, when the older man glanced back at Credence, there was surprise in his appraisal, a calm, pleased sort of surprise, like a clever smile above a swirl of steam from coffee.

It wasn’t enough. He – he needed more.

His nails scraped against the wall as he clenched his hands into fists; his hips began to move in short, quick snaps, injecting as much force behind each thrust as possible – Mr Graves let out a soft moan, and the pace entirely fell apart; his motions become rough and jerking – in another mindset, he would have been absolutely convinced that his stuttering motions were hurting Graves, but as it was, he fiercely chased that pressure in his lower belly until at last it bursts – Credence’s toes curl hard in his shoes, and he slumped against Mr Graves’ back. 

“Credence? Credence?”

White ejaculate dripped between their legs and onto the grimy ground. Credence flushed hot and backed away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

Graves chuckled, and it was a low, rich sound. As he straightened up, a whisk of his wand rearranged his clothes appropriately and disposed of the fluids. “A quick finisher…”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“No.” Graves cups his cheeks and presses their lips together in a full kiss. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Credence. With practice, you will get better.”

“You mean…”

Mr Graves grinned ferally. “Yes, Credence. There will be more of this.”

 

Credence returned to the church, tousle-haired and grinning.

Mary Lou took his belt and whipped the grin off his face. 

But she couldn't wipe the memories. And she couldn't take Mr Graves from him.


End file.
